747
by whatever never fail
Summary: because everyone got someone that's worth dying for, you just need to find them in time


**Disclaimer: Do not own anything related to Stephenie Meyers work. At all. I'm not even sure about my own plot yet. Just got a 100.000 words to share.**

Prologue; Weight of the world

You were looking at me like you didn't really believe it was me. Your eyes; too big and I tried to smile but you told me to remove that revolting smirk of my face and open the door. I did what you told me, almost eager, with my pulse going a thousand miles per second. But under the layers of my pulse and skin and bones, there was something else, something I could not name, something I could not associate with you, not now, maybe ever.  
Your door creaks, a year has gone by and in all that time you have not bothered to fix it. The door is like you I think. You don't switch on the lights but takes my hand instead; the electricity is there, even now. You lead me in to your living room and I don't know if I should sit down until you tell me to do just that. I'm trying to ask you if you had fun tonight, we were not at the same bar and I honestly don't know what else to ask. You ask me if I'm warm, what a strange question, are you not suppose to ask me if I'm cold? Isn't that the right way to phrase the question? But instead you throw your keys on the living room table, the noise cuts through the darkness and I can barely see your eyes; the color has drained and your just a shadow among shadows.  
I tell you that I want you to switch on the lights. You look at me and ask if you should turn on the light, laughs and lights a cigarette with a match. I answer that no, I'm not warm but I think I mean that I'm not cold and can you please switch on the lights? You are the one closest to the switch. I have no reason to be afraid of you but it's me who turns on the lights anyway.  
Were there any guys who tried to hit on you? What a silly question. And I lose my air in a poor attempt to laugh. But I have to answer you: No, no guys. I was there with Angela and you know that I haven't seen her in months. Somewhere I think that my explanation is enough so I reach for your cigarettes. I've got my own lighter. The smoke calms me down; I silently blow smoke rings that dance in the space between us. I don't meet your eyes.  
_I don't want to have sex with you._ Your statements keep getting weirder every time we meet and I keep my eyes safely away from you. No. That is the only word I manage to get out. For what else? I can't be myself tonight and I feel so small in your worn-out armchair. Should I be going?  
_I think you've been fucking someone else tonight, that's why I don't want to have sex with you_. I cough now, the smoke gets stuck in my throat and I can't breathe. I don't want to have to explain myself to you but suddenly words rush out of me, too fast and with too much volume to ever be considered as the truth. But I don't get up, I'm not trying to get up and leave.  
_Don't lie to me, you've been fucking someone else but I don't care, I don't give a shit about it but I don't want to have sex with you tonight._ And I, I don't even ask if you think I should leave. I don't know how to defend myself against your words. How do I defend myself against a truth that is your own creation? And I still can't meet your eyes. What is it about you that make me doubt my own truth? Your words get bigger, filling the room and all the while I keep myself locked down in your armchair. I want to change the subject, I want to smoke another cigarette, I want to eat something, and I want to bathe in ice water. I want to do anything to make you let this go and come back to me. Your eyes are not the same anymore. Did I move to fast forward now? When did your eyes change? An hour ago they were blue, my favorite color. What time is it? Suddenly you appear before me with a drink in your hand and I drink it as fast as I can, but you already have another one behind your back. Is this how it feels when you are dreaming? Whatever you do, the dream does what it wants anyway. All logic has left the room, the apartment. It left when we passed your creaking door and I'm still sitting here with you. Because you are still you, somewhere, and I think that if I only sit here as still as I possibly can, then we will wake up and we can start again. But when that thought has left I see you rise from the sofa across from the armchair. _Have you fucked someone tonight?_  
How do I answer? Of course I tell you _no, of course I haven't_, but that still feels wrong. You shouldn't even ask. I should've made you take back your words. I should've screamed at you, called you a bastard for even thinking something like that and I should've thrown keys, lighter and the cigarettes at you and bolt for the door.. But you catch me before I reach the door. Images is running through my mind, faster than the cars on autobahn; a second ago I was born, there is my mum neither dead nor alive and my never present father and there is Angela and now, now I'm going to die.

_You are straddling me and I can't feel my nose. I think I've been out for awhile, don't know how I know but I think that's the case. I can't feel my left cheek either and your nose is red, like you recently had a nosebleed and hasn't cared enough to clean yourself up. Your breathing is heavy as if your lines has gotten stuck somewhere on the way. But how do I know that? What have I seen that I don't remember but still know has happened? You don't hold me down but since you're still straddling me that's not really necessary. You don't say anything and neither do I. Our whole world is full of words of nothing. And then you start mumbling words I can't comprehend, can't hear. I must never leave you, never ever and I have hurt you so much. No one has ever hurt you so much as I've done. But you're still invincible, protected by ice and your mumbling gets harder to hear. Am I on my way to passing out or are you? Then you look me in the eyes and I can't look away. There's nothing of your perfect blue left. The spots on your shirt, is that blood? Whose is it? The question clear but not asked aloud. I can't see your hands.._

You have passed out on the couch, that's the first thing I see when I wake up again. You look calm, almost sad. I didn't know that you could be so expressive when unconscious. When I try to sit up I see something on the living room table, I guess it's what's left. The rest is burning away in your veins. According to the DVD, it's a little after four in the morning..

_Everything hurts. I think. This time I don't turn away, I don't know where you are. Maybe you are still unconscious and sad. How do I look when I'm gone? I think you know but that's another question I can't ask aloud. It hurts, but I can't locate the pain. Maybe everywhere. Why can't I remember? Maybe you have erased me; maybe that was what you wanted all along. Erase me and replace me with someone who can't meet your eyes. Turn me into someone who does everything for those perfect blue orbs of truth. You have replaced me with someone who does what she's told. If this was what you wanted, then you have succeeded. You can come back to me now, I know what you want and what you want is what I want. If you stake your claim now I can´t never ever leave you.._

It's six am, I'm half way under the table and I'm cold. Can you hear me? I'm cold. Can you lend me your white hoodie? It's my favorite. I see your hand in my peripheral vision, and I reach out to touch you, feel the scars on your arms under my fingertips. The scars that you are so ashamed of, but you don't react when I touch you.  
Slowly I get up from under the table and only hit my head once.

_You don't look dangerous. It's my arm that hurts the most, I'm sure of it because I've been thinking for awhile. And because of that; you don't look dangerous. You have a mirror in your hall, can I pass by it? Or should I try to remember you in a better light than you deserve? I close my eyes, but only briefly, I'm dreaming, I'm not awake. I. Am. Not. Awake  
_

The mirror is too big for me. And I see the truth, and the truth is everything I can't believe in. If I pretend from here on out, maybe everything will be okay?


End file.
